


A Little Comfort

by orphan_account



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:14:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kelley always knows what Hope needs</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a follow up to A Little Quiet, and mostly just a byproduct of my inability to keep from writing post-game scenes with these two because I'm trash.

“Come to my room.”

The words light up Hope’s phone screen just as she’s drying off her hair. She ignores them. She’s good at ignoring things like this, especially when she feels the way she does currently — on edge, buzzing with a mixture of selfish rage and unyielding self hatred. She keeps clenching her jaw and then remembering to try a little harder, to soften her facial features, to keep her mouth wired shut without allowing too much of the tension to show.

The easiest way to keep from hurting others, at least in Hope’s book, is to stay silent. Space is her friend. She kept her space on the bus, choosing the window seat of a row in the very back and then filling the spot next to her with her bag and the rest of her gear, sliding on headphones and looking out at the passing landscape without a word to even Carli. She knew, of course, that everyone was watching her with a mix of concern and genuine fear. Becky had stiffened at her words after the game, quick and short. Carli had grabbed her by one arm and steered her to the outskirts of the huddle, given her gentle congratulations on a job well done which Hope, like always, returned in kind. But they kept her space, and she did the same, and she knew everyone was just hoping this would boil over as soon as possible.

The problem wasn’t the team. It was the circumstances, the fact that they struggled often with chemistry, that a 1-0 victory could often feel the same as a draw or even a loss, especially from Hope’s view from the back, where she spotted every weakness, every vulnerability, and could only pray that she would be quick enough to patch it up and smooth it over quickly enough.

So she kept her space, let her silence hang heavy over Crystal as they shuffled around their room together, packing bags and readying themselves for a travel day. Crystal let her shower first, let her spend almost an hour in the bathroom, first sitting under the stream of hot water in the shower, then sitting on the cool tile, resting her head against the wall, eyes closed and fists clenched.

Now she’s just trying to get into sweats and crash into her bed, looking forward to a night’s rest and what will hopefully be a deeper sense of calm in the morning.

Leave it to Kelley to wreck all her plans.

When the text is left unopened for over half an hour, there’s a knock on her door, which she expects, quite honestly, although she doesn’t expect the face on the other side. Tobin tugs her quickly into a hug, the movement simple and almost aggressively gentle. She’s always had this ability, to wrap someone up in her arms and practically force her sense of genuine calm onto whoever she’s choosing to hold at the moment. Hope relaxes slightly into it for a second, then pulls away.

“Great game today.” She means it, of course, and Tobin knows that, which is why she smiles back, her hand still attached to Hope’s arm.

“You too.”

Tobin shifts for a second, her hand slipping into her sweatpants pocket, and then she unearths a room key and holds it out to Hope. The scene feels like a memory, as if she’s reliving some other life that she used to have four years ago.

“This is for you. Number is 521. And please—“ Tobin holds up a hand before Hope can even begin to think of an argument. “Just take it and go, because I’m two games’ worth of tired and that bed of yours looks really comfortable.”

So Hope takes the key and lets Tobin slip past, and she can hear the midfielder flopping onto her bed before the door even has a chance to swing closed behind her. She looks at the key — room 521, right down the hall — and realizes that, like always, she doesn’t really have a choice.

Kelley is on her stomach on her bed when Hope walks in, pulling the door closed as quickly as possible behind her and watching warily as the smaller woman looks up at her. She tosses her phone on the bedside table and then hops up, moving to stand directly in front of Hope, arms crossed, face completely unreadable.

“Yell at me.”

The words surprise Hope, but not as much as they probably should, because she’s become rather accustomed to Kelley knocking her off balance in the simplest of ways.

“What?” Hope keeps her voice level, even as Kelley takes another step towards her and she can smell her shampoo and see the way her arms are flexing, just slightly, as she clenches them to her chest.

“Yell at me.” Kelley cocks one eyebrow, as if this is a challenge or maybe just a game. Either way, the expression has Hope clenching her jaw again, struggling to keep herself from rolling her eyes. “You look like a bomb that’s just ticking, waiting to explode. And you can’t yell at Carli because she’ll just yell back, and the same goes for Becky. Whitney and JJ would just break down on you, and you would piss Kling off to no end, and Alex and Crystal are too damn frustrated with themselves to be useful, and honestly Megan just isn’t what you want in this kind of situation, and you would scare the living daylights out of Mal, and I doubt the rest of the team is physically able to handle one of your bouts of frustration."

Kelley moves a step closer, and now Hope is having to look down at her, trying to ignore the fact that she was now within arms’ length because she did not want to do this, not now, not when she felt like a tightly wound rubber band about to snap.

“But I can take it, because I had a good game and I know you and I know what you’re feeling right now.” She reaches out and her hand is light on Hope’s bicep. “So give it to me.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Hope mutters, and Kelley smirks at her.

“That’s the spirit.” The smirk grew wider. “There’s the bitch face I know and love.”

And Hope snaps, just like a rubber band, feels everything that she’d tried to stamp down and ignore and push away come bubbling up to the surface in a rush of a second.

“Can’t you just shut up?” Hope swats the hand away. “Like seriously, do you have to talk all the god damn time? Why can’t you just let me be pissed off and angry and whatever on my fucking own?”

“Because this is so much more fun,” Kelley shot back, her eyes challenging, and now it was Hope stepping forward to close any distance left between them.

“Fuck you,” Hope growls. “I did my job, I kept us clean and I took care of everyone’s goddamn mistake, I cleaned up every fucking move that the backline made and I was back there, taking the heat and the chants and everything else while all of you were out there fucking around acting like a goddamn disaster of a team. So don’t joke around just because you think it’s funny that I’m a little worked up.”

“I don’t think it’s funny.” Kelley tips her chin up. “I do think it’s a little hot, though.”

And just like that, any semblance of self control that Hope was hoping to maintain is snapped in half and thrown out the damn window and she’s on top of Kelley with every ounce of rage she’s felt tonight. It’s rough and it’s sloppy and it’s just — and God she knows this, it’s infuriating that she knows them — how she needs it and how Kelley wants it right now. She’s pushed Kelley back into the desk, half lifted her onto the flat surface of the table and shoved her hands up her shirt, mouth pressed against hers, and whatever Kelley is doing with her tongue is unspeakably dirty and precisely what Hope has been craving.

“That was the most shit performance I think I’ve seen our team put out in recent years,” Hope mutters, dropping her mouth and digging her teeth into the skin of Kelley’s clavicle, reveling in the way Kelley yelps and then squirms and then digs her fingernails into the skin of Hope’s back. Her hands trail further down, and she grips hard on Hope’s thighs, pulling her even closer, letting Hope lean them forward — or backward, for Kelley — and letting her dominate this completely and wholly.

“It could’ve been worse,” Kelley gasps out, barely getting the words out before Hope pulls her shirt off over her head and then unclasps her bra almost in the same goddamn motion because her patience had apparently gone along with her self control. She grabs Kelley by the arms, tugging her off the desk only to push her into the wall, enjoying the small grunt that accompanies the motion.

“Right.” Hope slid one hand under Kelley’s sweatpants, her other hand still holding Kelley’s weight against the wall, her mouth now toying expertly with the soft part of her neck just above her pulse point. “We could’ve let in a few more goals and lost the whole damn thing.”

“Good thing you’re so world cla—“ The last syllable morphs into a gasp as Hope curls her fingers, and Kelley drops her head back against the wall, letting out a soft breathy sound before actually moaning — which she never does, Hope would love to point out. 

She’s putting on a show and Hope knows it, especially when she drops her head forward again and mutters “fuck” and grips hold of Hope even tighter, shoving her hips forward as she lets loose a steady stream of profanities. But it’s doing something to make that rage that’s swirling low in Hope’s gut turn into something else, something white hot and potent and completely impossible to control, impossible to keep from unravelling. So instead, Hope unravels, letting Kelley pull off her shirt and then shimmy out of her sweatpants, standing naked in front of Hope with every single inch of her screaming a silent plea.

And then she says it — “Hope, will you hurry up and fuck me” — and Hope is shoving her against the wall again and she’s wearing too much clothing and Kelley really isn’t doing anything except kiss her back and hold up her body weight as best as she can but that’s the _point_ of all this, in all reality, and Hope knows that and she doesn’t give a shit because it feels too damn good. 

Still, she pauses.

“We need to keep your legs rested,” she mutters, her fingers crooked tantalizingly against Kelley’s center and her mouth back on her jaw, teeth digging in carefully enough to not leave a mark.

“Either you do this now, or I’ll do it myself as soon as I leave,” Kelley mutters back, her hand reaching down to press Hope in right _there_ and Hope’s throat constricts at the mental image suddenly burning itself into her mind — Kelley with her head thrown back against the hotel bed and her hand buried in herself and her breath coming short and fast — and she knows that shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it is but fuck what should and shouldn’t be. She gets the message.

“Fine.” Hope grabs her by the biceps again, this time aiming them back at the bed, and Kelley just _grins_ when she pushes her down a little too roughly onto the bed, as if this is a game and she’s somehow still winning, somehow keeping out of reach of Hope’s pent up anger.

“Having fun yet?” she quips, and that’s enough to make Hope grab her again — a little more roughly, even if Kelley doesn’t notice it — and flip her over, pressing one hand into the small of her back to keep Kelley’s stomach pressed flat to the hotel bed.

“You have no idea,” Hope mutters, propping herself up with a knee in between Kelley’s legs, running her other hand down the outside of her thigh, then back up the inside, then up higher until Kelley is gasping out again, both hands grasping at the comforter until she has a good grip. She moves quickly, her fingers twitching in just the right patterns, but after several minutes Hope is increasingly frustrated by the way the pillows under Kelley are muffling what should be a crescendo of curses coming from the smaller woman’s mouth.

Almost without thinking, she reaches forward, fingers blindly sliding into Kelley’s hair as she remains focused on her other hand. She tugs, lightly at first, then harder, until Kelley’s head is pulled back from the bed and her voice is clear again and — oh God, Hope almost felt bad for doing this, but the way Kelley is refusing to even pretend to be quiet right now is doing too much to her for her to even begin to feel regret. She tugs harder, and Kelley’s whole body shudders and Hope picks up her pace again.

“You know—“ Kelley grits out through her teeth, her breath unsteady and her voice absolutely wrecked. “You really are too good with your hands.”

It’s absolutely cheesy and in any other mood Hope would’ve laughed. Tonight, she just drops her grip on Kelley’s hair, slipping that hand around her body to help finish Kelley off, and it’s quick and it doesn’t take long and then Kelley is falling apart in her arms.

And here lies the biggest problem with fucking Kelley. It’s not that she’s too young for Hope, or that she’s honestly too good, too patient and funny and wholly perfect to ever seem even slightly a feasible match for all of Hope’s broken, fucked up, messy puzzle pieces. Because if that were the case, then Hope could just fuck Kelley and give her what she wants and break her in that careless, self-righteous way that she used to sweep through people’s lives. She could make this a one-night stand, or a meaningless hook-up, or whatever she wanted to say. And she could hurt Kelley again and again and again, no problem, because then of course this would mean nothing, and then of course she would still have a wedding band on her left hand and a disquieting lack of text messages after tonight’s game and the third drawer in her dresser at home wouldn’t be filled with Stanford sweatshirts and size small Under Armour shorts and turquoise sports bras.

Which leads Hope to the biggest problem with fucking Kelley, which is happening right now, as she presses her face into the bed and shakes and closes around Hope’s fingers. Because Kelley can kiss Hope dirty as hell and scrape her nails against her skin hard enough to leave marks and she hides a bite in her kiss and she can push right back at Hope, push her almost to a breaking point when they fuck like this.

But when she comes undone, she calls out Hope’s name in a gasping plea, and her breath becomes shaky and her voice becomes ragged, and Hope can’t help but feel that vulnerability, that softness, underneath whatever tough exterior she’s created to ride out Hope’s aggression. And she knows that Kelley loves this, knows that she craves it and sometimes seeks it out, purposefully riling the keeper up until she can’t help but give into it. But part of her softens every time she feels Kelley like this in her arms, feels the way she presses back into Hope, the way she breathes out her name like a wholehearted prayer. And it’s that softening that is most dangerous about Kelley, and about what Kelley does to Hope, and about what Hope feels for Kelley.

Kelley comes undone and Hope presses a kiss into her shoulder blade, the gentlest touch she’s given since walking into her room. She props herself up on one arm, her other hand still coaxing Kelley down from the high, watching her shoulders shake as she forces out breath after breath. Finally, Kelley rolls over, eyes still closed, and Hope studies her face.

“Good Lord.”

“I’m sorry.”

They speak at almost the same time, and Kelley’s eyes snap open, furrowed in what might be confusion or perhaps just amusement.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Kelley is smirking again, and she reaches out a hand, tugging at Hope’s hip. “Did that not do the trick?”

“No, no—“ And only now does Hope realize that her shoulders are loose, her stomach settled, and she realizes with a glint of humor that Kelley literally fucked the anger out of her. “That did it, I just— I’m sorry for using you like that.”

“I didn’t complain, did I?” Kelley moves to kiss her again, but Hope turns her head and her lips press into her jaw instead, then work their way calmly down to her throat, her tongue tracing small circles. Hope feels Kelley’s hand move down, her fingers purposeful, and she grabs at her wrist.

“I used you.” Kelley doesn’t lift her head, but she pulls her lips away, her breath hushed against Hope’s throat. “You knew I was pissed off and you let me use you to work that out and I’m sorry.”

“Hope.” The way Kelley says Hope's name has always been subtly devastating to her, quietly shattering her resolve and her protective walls and her ego in one simple syllable. “I wanted this.”

“I know you did but—“ Kelley cuts her off with a kiss, and then another, and then her hand is tracing even lower and Hope knows where this is leading and she tightens her grip on Kelley’s wrist, dragging it up and away from her waistband.

“I don’t want that—“ She sucks in a breath at the hurt in Kelley’s face. “I don’t need that. I want— I want you to know that you didn’t need to do this. I don’t expect this of you. I just want you to know that. I’m not using you. I didn’t come here because I think you’re expendable or a good way to blow off steam or anything, this isn’t like last time, I promise, so just—“

“Stop.” Kelley’s voice is firm, mature, and Hope notices in this moment the sharpness of her jawline, the quick intelligence of her eyes, the ferocity of her tone, the difference that four years can make. “I want you. I want this. You left, and then you came back, and then I left, and then I came back. That’s our story. And tonight, yeah, you were mad and you need to get that the fuck out of your system, but I was in the same boat. I needed you. And you came through for me.”

“I certainly did,” Hope can’t help but mutter, and then they’re laughing, and then they’re doing some combination of kissing and laughing and Hope is feeling a little more relaxed, a little more whole. And yes, the game was still a disaster and she’ll still be hard on her defenders in upcoming practices. But for now Kelley soothes her sore muscles with kisses and weaves her fingers through her hair, as she mutters quiet words of affirmation in her ear and twists her fingers just gently and precisely enough to leave Hope gasping. And as Kelley comforts her in her own way, both ferocious and tender, Hope knows that this feeling will pass, and she will wake up tomorrow and be at least partly new.

For now, she lets Kelley kiss her, again and again, melting into the sense of comfort that only Kelley can provide.


End file.
